


Warmth

by bikuai



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character concepts, Gen, Lots of Symbolism, a mention of Big Bend National Park, first original fiction i’ve ever posted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai
Summary: Caleb Grant hates the cold.
Kudos: 3





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Made as part of a friend’s OC celebration week :’^)

While the boss went upstairs to do business, Caleb Grant waited in the hotel lobby. It was classy, with marble floors, bronze accents, and redwood coffee tables. He went to one of the plush brown leather settees and threw himself down into it. The intricate grandfather clock on the opposite wall read quarter till midnight.

There were bellhops and doormen milling around but not much else. The only indication of another party was the occasional swell of cold autumn air that rushed in with returning guests. Caleb hated the cold and hated the wind; his hat usually protected him from both, but the boss made him leave it in the car. Right before the boss left him in the cold, empty lobby.

To be fair, it wasn’t freezing. There was a real fire burning in the hearth, though it was fueled by gas and not wood. Another fire—a real crackling fire with dancing embers—burned high above it on the mantle. But as a compromise, it was trapped in an ultra 4K flat screen TV, and it gave no warmth. Caleb shivered as the set of heavy doors swung open again. Pouting, he itched at his stubble then scooted closer to the two fires.

The aura of warmth felt like heaven. It could almost compare to the heat of the sun over Big Bend at high noon. Mr. Grant was a park ranger there before he retired, and his son used to spend every summer high up in those mountains. Caleb tried to put those memories down; it was autumn now, and it had been for a while. He was in the lobby of New York’s 17th best rated hotel. There wasn’t a notable desert nor mountain for hundreds of miles.

Caleb relaxed back into the cushions and threw an arm over the back of the couch. A huff of a sigh left him. Soon the boss would come down, wiping his hands on a kerchief, and then they would depart, pushing through the heavy glass doors and out into the cold night. Their driver should be waiting right around the—

A hand lands on his shoulder. He startles and flinches from the contact, whipping his head around to meet the culprit. The hand recoils like a snake. Caleb stands as his eyes glide up the figure standing behind the couch. His scowl relaxes into a practiced smile when he notices the brooch pinned at her collar. She’s an ally. An ally from out of town, but an ally nonetheless. Caleb runs a hand through his sandy wave of hair.

“Howdy.” Even without his usual get up, the charade melts into his body. Lopsided grin, tiger stone eyes, and the posture of a dancer.

Deep mahogany stains her lips; she smirks.

“Giordano sent me to take you home. Things upstairs are taking longer than anticipated.” She doesn’t seem at all bothered by the implications of her words. This isn’t her first rodeo.

Caleb crosses his arms while maintaining his easy stance. “And who might you be? Boss never mentioned any visitors from Rochester.”

“My name is Imaan. I just transferred here.”

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Caleb.”

He extends his hand, and Imaan accepts it. She’s cold to the touch.

In a moment, the two are outside on the sidewalk. They maintain a brisk pace, walking abreast. There are still hoards of people walking about, sporting their first heavy sweaters of the season. The two manage to weave around the other pedestrians. Caleb shoves his hands into his pockets and wishes he had worn more layers. A biting wind whips between the buildings, tossing Imaan’s hair out behind her in a dark wave. Just one block, she said. Caleb feels like it’s been much more, but it’s cold and he’s never been much of a city boy. As far as he’s concerned, New York is just a fjord of dreams, desires, and darkness. He, by chance, casts a gaze up to the strip of sky visible between the buildings. Blinding lights, but no stars.

When they reach her car, there is a pause. Hand poised to open the door, Imaan freezes. She raises her eyes to meet Caleb’s, and for a moment, they just examine each other over the roof of the car. Then silently, without ceremony, a single snowflake spins and twirls between them. It lands on the car, a white speck against the black paint.

Imaan finally grips the door handle and triggers the automatic unlocking system. She slips into the driver’s seat, starts the car, and they peel off into the night.


End file.
